The Wings of Morning

by Murray Pura

“I agree with you.”

  He looked up at Mrs. Miller standing with her children on the porch and a newborn in her arms. “Will you come, Rachel?”

  Her face looked swollen and red. “No, Adam, my place is with my children and the baby. But you go. Yes, go, please, and keep our young men from evil. Guard them, please, guard them.”

  What, thought Lyyndaya as the carriage bounced down to the road, could they possibly do that would quell the hatred and contempt she had seen in the eyes of both the corporal and the captain? How could they turn the key in the lock that would set their Amish men free from the wrath of the United States Army?

  TEN

  A month passed as they prayed and fretted over the fate of the young men from their colony. Finally word came that the men were to be allowed a visit. Everyone thanked God and began to prepare food to take to them. Lyyndaya was still packing items away the day of the train ride to the camp.

  Her father called up the stairs to her. “Lyyndaya, you must hurry, we’ll miss the train.”

  “Yes, yes, Papa, I’m coming.” How could she not be ready? She had looked forward to this day since it was announced through the colony that family members could travel to the army base to see the six young men who were still under detention until the matter of their enlistment was settled.

  Lyyndaya opened the screen door and ran down the front steps to the buggy where her father waited, holding the reins. Her mother kissed her on the cheek. Ruth stepped from the barn as they swept down the drive and waved, calling out, “Geht mit Gott.” Lyyndaya settled the wicker picnic basket, covered by a green checkered tablecloth, into her lap of black apron, navy-blue dress, and long black coat.

  As they approached the railway station she saw the locomotive taking on water and coal and building up a head of steam. The other families were already there standing in a cluster on the depot platform. From the Zook family, Emma would be there, not the bishop as everyone had expected. He had expressed his contentment that Pastor Miller would be traveling with the group. His presence was, then, unnecessary. The fathers of David Hostetler and Jacob Beiler would be going as well. The mother of Jonathan Harshberger would join them.

  Lyyndaya had no business going on this trip, not having family at the army base where the Amish men were detained. But Jude’s father had said he felt poorly and asked her to go in his stead, telegraphing this change in plans to the military—they were permitting only one family member to visit each of the young men. Mr. Whetstone stood on the platform with the others and turned and smiled as the buggy approached, Old Oak tossing his head and whinnying at the other horses. Mr. Whetstone does not look ill, Lyyndaya thought as she smiled back, but then who believed he was truly badly off to begin with?

  When Lyyndaya approached Jude’s father, he pressed a wooden object into her hands and said, “Give my son this.” It was a model of an aeroplane.

  Lyyndaya turned the model over in her hand. “It’s not like the plane Jude flies.”

  “No, this is the 1903 Flyer, the plane the Wright brothers managed to get aloft near Kitty Hawk. I will say it is a copy of the first real plane. Do you know about that?”

  Lyyndaya shook her head. “Was it you who made this for him?”

  “Ja. When he was eight. After he had seen an aeroplane for the first time. He just calls it ‘Kitty Hawk’ or ‘Kitty.’”

  She tucked it carefully under the checkered cloth of her picnic basket. “He will love it.” She touched his arm. “Thank you—Mr. Whetstone—for allowing me this opportunity to see Jude.”

  He nodded. “Tell him I am praying for him. He will be all right.” Then he shrugged. “He doesn’t need to see an old broken down plow horse like me. Not when he has the two Amish beauties of Paradise to preoccupy him.”

  “Emma and I shall do our best to cheer him up.”

  “For him to see you, Lyyndaya, you alone, would be enough.”

  Just then the conductor announced, “All aboard!” and there were last-minute goodbyes and hugs all around as the travelers made their way onto the train.

  Lyyndaya and Emma found seats facing one another and settled in for the two-hour trip.

  “Will he have lost weight, do you think?” asked Emma. “It’s been over a month and I never hear good things about army food.”

  “I hope he’s just the same. He has nothing extra to lose.”

  “Yes, I know, he is perfect, thank God.” Emma lifted her own wicker basket that was covered by a solid yellow cloth and almost twice as large as Lyyndaya’s. “Between the pair of us we can fatten him up, if necessary.”

  “What do you have in there? A roast ox?”

  Emma laughed. “Remember, I’m packing for two—Hosea and Jude.”

  Lyyndaya let out a puff of air in a quiet sigh. “Let’s just hope the army will permit us to give him all of it. I’ve heard stories about them confiscating food meant for prisoners.”

  Emma’s eyes became a dark jade color and her lips formed a line as straight as a ruler. Her good humor had instantly vanished as if in a gust of cold November wind. “He will have all of it. He is an American citizen. They cannot deny him our help.”

  Lyyndaya smiled with her eyes. “I like your spirit. It brings to mind the time we had the acorn war with the boys. You threw handfuls so fast they all scattered.”

  “Oh, that.” Emma looked out the window at black beef cattle grazing near a patch of golden pumpkins. Her lips curved upward slightly. “I was mostly mad at my brother for getting mud on my dress.”

  “Well, I think you’ll need that same strength at the army base. Remember how the soldiers acted in Paradise? All their swagger and rudeness? The country is in a fight with Germany, and for some it seems to excuse all the rough behavior they wish to indulge in.”

  “God will direct our steps.”

  Lyyndaya nodded. “Yes. But who is directing theirs?”

  As promised, two military cars met the train at the depot. Lyyndaya, Emma, and Mrs. Harshberger rode together in one vehicle while the three men took the other. The officer who had greeted them, a lieutenant, had been polite and friendly. Lyyndaya could see his head turned toward the men in the car ahead as they moved quickly over the dirt roads. Their own driver, a young man like Jude and Hosea, said nothing as he steered and shifted gears. Lyyndaya suddenly felt cold and too far from Paradise and wished she had not come. But she needed to see Jude—that was all there was to it. She thought about him, worried about him, and prayed for him day and night. Perhaps it was important he see her too, or if not just her, to see her and Emma both. At this point, thinking of him under guard, treated like a criminal, she cared less about who Jude liked most and more about what was good for him. And if two women picked up his spirits, she didn’t mind sharing him with Emma Zook.

  Soldiers opened the gate to the camp and saluted the officer in the first car. Their driver followed closely behind. Lyyndaya saw men in brown uniforms marching back and forth in front of wooden buildings and rows of tents in the sharp October sunshine. Some were shouting. Many of them held rifles to their shoulders. After a few minutes of driving they left the main part of the base and came to a corner where there was hardly any activity. They had to go through another gate into an area surrounded by tall barbed-wire fences. Soldiers with guns stood by buildings with bars in the windows. The two cars parked and the lieutenant walked over to their motor vehicle and leaned in.

  “Here we are, ladies,” he said. “We’ll just step into this main barracks here, look over your baskets to make sure everything is in the pink, then we’ll escort you to the dining room, where you can meet your brothers and sons.”

  Inside, the six of them stood quietly by as two soldiers lifted the cloth coverings from the baskets and dug deeply into the contents, examining everything they put their hands on. Four jars of preserves were lifted from Emma’s basket and set aside. The officer, who was standing back and watching, stepped forward as Emma began to protest.

  “I’m sorry, miss,” he apol
ogized, “but we can’t give them anything that might be used as a weapon.”

  “A weapon?” Emma bristled. “You think my brother will throw jars of peaches at you?”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of broken glass being used like a knife blade.”

  “Hosea? Jude? Jacob?” Emma’s eyes flamed a bright green. “Our men wouldn’t harm a kitten. Don’t you know we’re Amish? Don’t you know what we believe?”

  “Well—” The officer paused, surprised by Emma’s ferocity. “I suppose I don’t know much, miss. There are no Amish in Idaho, where I’m from. All I know is, these men of yours will not fight, they will not join our troops in France and do battle for our country’s freedoms.”

  An edge had come into his voice. Lyyndaya put her hand on Emma’s arm. “Is it only the glass jars you are worried about, Lieutenant?”

  “And any knives or forks.”

  “How do you expect them to eat then?”

  “They have their hands.” Ice came into the officer’s eyes. “Permit us to finish our work.”

  When the soldiers were done Lyyndaya counted over two dozen jars of fruit and jams and vegetables lined up on the table. There were three large glass containers of fresh apple cider as well and five pints of milk. The lieutenant had the privates remove the jars from the room and then led the group through another door into what he called the mess hall. It was a small room with an odor that made Lyyndaya put a hand briefly to her nose and mouth. Rough wooden tables were lined with equally rough wooden benches. She heard Mr. Beiler mutter, “Shoddy workmanship. The boys will get splinters from those.”

  There was only one small window with iron bars. Some light made its way into the room, but it felt to Lyyndaya as if it were dusk, even though she knew it was just ten o’clock in the morning. Everyone in the group whispered as though somewhere people were sleeping. The officer had left through another door but soon returned, followed by a tall, heavy guard who carried what looked like a club, and then right behind him came Jonathan Harshberger. Lyyndaya heard his mother let out a small cry.

  His hair was shaved off and one eye was swollen and purple. An old shirt with holes and old pants almost worn through at the knees hung from his body as he shuffled toward them, limping. Lyyndaya looked on in shock. Where once his baby face had been round as an orange, now it reminded her of a plank of wood.

  “My boy, my boy!” Mrs. Harshberger rushed to her son and took him in her arms, hugging him fiercely.

  Behind him was Jacob Beiler and after him Samuel Miller. Each of them had bruises on their cheeks and the same shaven heads and tattered clothing as Jonathan. Jacob burst into tears the moment he saw everyone. But Sam Miller kept his face tight and his emotions under control as his father shook his hand and gave him a swift hug. David Hostetler, when he appeared, wore bandages on both hands. Yet he marched steadily across the room and greeted them all as if he were arriving at church meal after the Sunday service. The moment Hosea walked into the room Lyyndaya saw Emma put her fist to her mouth. His sleepy, easy smile was gone, dark rings were under his eyes, and large scabs festered at each side of his mouth. Beginning to cry, Emma ran to him. Pastor Miller turned from embracing his son to glare at the lieutenant. “What is this you have done to our young men?”

  The lieutenant returned the glare with one of his own. “Clumsy men, you Amish types, once you’re away from your barns and draft horses. Perhaps it’s just as well you aren’t in France. Probably shoot more of our own than you would the enemy.”

  For a long time Jude didn’t enter the room. Lyyndaya was about to ask the officer where he was when he made his way slowly through the doorway. She thought she might faint, he looked so unlike himself—no hair, a cut above his left eye, a whiteness in his face, hardly more than skin and bones. He had lost so much weight, his body sagged.

  “Jude!” she said, coming quickly and holding him up.

  “I’m so weak, so tired,” he answered in a rasp. “Never seem to get enough sleep, can’t manage to keep all my food down.”

  “What do they do to you here?”

  “I must sit.”

  She helped him onto a bench.

  “Have you brought any milk with you?” he asked.

  “No, they took it all.”

  “Any cream?”

  “They wouldn’t let us keep our glass containers. What do they give you to drink?”

  “Water. Very bad water. Not like our own wells.”

  “I have some soft cheese.”

  He shook his head. Lyyndaya scrabbled through her basket, looking for something that might appeal to him. She came upon fruit wrapped in a towel.

  “I have cherries, old cherries, but they are still—”

  “Yes, please. I would like that.”

  She gave him the cherries and he began to pop them into his mouth and slowly spit out the pits.

  “Very nice,” he said with his first smile. “Thank you, it’s so good to taste something.”

  “And there are apples. The Jonathan, the McIntosh, and that new Cortland you like so much.”

  “Ah. You’re wonderful. A Cortland would be—” He closed his eyes and his head fell sideways. Lyyndaya thought he was going to pass out. Then he sat up and blinked. “I’m sorry, I probably needed a few more hours sleep.”

  “What time were you up?”

  “Two or three.”

  “Why?”

  “They needed the latrines cleaned out—all of them—so they got Hosea and Jacob and me out of bed—”

  “Why couldn’t the others help?”

  Jude laughed quietly, turning the idea over in his mind. “Because—they had David and Samuel and Jonathan digging new ones at midnight—”

  Lyyndaya felt the familiar tingling of blood rising to her face. “They can’t treat you like this. You’re not cowards. It’s our faith, our beliefs, we do not take a human life, do not go to war—”

  She turned on the officer, who was watching Pastor Miller offer his son honey from a small wooden box.

  “You can’t treat them like this,” she almost shouted. “They are Americans. You should be proud of them.”

  The officer looked at her in amazement. “Proud of them? For what?”

  Lyyndaya clenched her fists. “The rest of you go like sheep to the slaughter. These are the ones with the courage to have minds of their own. To think for themselves. Not to blindly follow the pack. Isn’t that American, yes? To make your own path, follow your own vision, to do what is different? Why do you punish them for being what you say you fight to preserve?”

  The lieutenant was caught without words. “I—we—do not punish anyone here. They are merely detained. We ask them to help us keep the camp clean—”

  “If they were the cowards you take them to be,” Lyyndaya continued, walking toward him, “then why haven’t they caved in to your demands? Why haven’t they told you, Yes, enough, give us a rifle, send us on the boat to Europe, we will do your dirty work in France for you? If they are so craven as you imagine, why haven’t they given in to you long ago?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Of course you do!” She stood directly in front of him. “You’ve been trying to break them and you find they are not so easily broken, yes? Doesn’t that indicate manhood to you? Is it not the very expression of bravery?”

  The tall weighty man with the club laughed and began to clap his hands. “My lady, you have a golden tongue.”

  The lieutenant shot the soldier an angry glance. “That will do, Sergeant.”

  “You must admit, sir, that she gives a good account of herself and the Amish.”

  The lieutenant fumbled in one of his pants pockets for a watch. He showed it to Lyyndaya. “I said an hour. No more. You have thirty-five minutes left.” He placed the watch back in a different pocket. “Don’t waste it arguing with me. Your men are not mistreated.”

  Lyyndaya stalked back to Jude’s side where Emma was now fussing over him with Hosea
at her other side. Her brother tried to smile his slow lopsided grin at her, but he couldn’t turn up the corners of his mouth. She put a hand briefly on his cheek.

  “Don’t smile to please me, Hosea,” she said quietly. “I can see how it hurts. How is it with you?”

  “I pray for our return to Paradise.”

  “As we all do.”

  “Do you happen to have a bit of—soft cheese?”

  She smiled. “I do.” She reached over into her basket that sat near them on the long table. “Here. Have it all.”

  “What about Jude?”

  “No, he’s not interested. His stomach is upset.”

  Hosea sat chewing carefully, trying to move his mouth as little as possible. “Yes, it is always that way with him since we’ve come here.”

  “Don’t they ever bring a doctor in to see any of you?”

  “Twice. He always says we need more fresh air and exercise.”

  “Do they give you that?”

  Hosea laughed and winced, putting a hand to one of the cuts near his lips. “Don’t do that, Lyyndy. I can’t afford to hear a joke. It hurts too much.”

  She looked at him with wide green eyes. “What did I say that was funny?”

  “Fresh air. Exercise. We’re always outside cleaning up latrines or digging ditches or burning garbage. Or mucking out the stables. It’s rare to see four walls around us except for meals and a few hours of sleep.”

  Upon hearing this, Lyyndaya glared at the lieutenant again. The officer deliberately turned his back on her. The sergeant with the club winked. She kept staring at the officer, knowing he continued to feel her eyes on him, like hot pins.

  “So am I to believe the lieutenant,” she asked Hosea, “when he says you are not treated poorly?”

  “Oh,” Hosea gasped, pushing another piece of yellow cheese cautiously into his mouth, “he doesn’t know a thing that goes on with us. He’s just here for show. Remember that corporal who was with the group that picked us up in Paradise? He’s the one who cracks the whip.”

  “Where is he?”

  “You won’t see him. He’ll drop out of the sky the moment you’re gone.”